


Agape

by blue_fairytale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amara is A Bitch, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester is Loved, Everything Hurts, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, I Made Myself Cry, I apologize in advance, I sholdn't be allowed near tags, I swear there's a happy ending, It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, M/M, Tags Contain Spoilers, Unrequited Love, but not really, i don't think i have enough tags to stress how painful this is, i know it says major character death just remembers this has a happy end, i'm not that much of a bitch, it's kinda of worth it, that shit is heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24951334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fairytale/pseuds/blue_fairytale
Summary: Hanahaki is a fictional disease in which the victim vomits flower petals when suffering from unrequited love. The disease can only be cured when love is reciprocated or when the victim dies. Another possibility is the surgical removal of the flowers, but the side effects can be worse than death itself.Dean Winchester never believed in the disease, until he suffered from it first hand. His mistake was not falling in love with Amara, but to waist his love with someone who was only interested in his flowers.‘Agape’ is one of the four words used by the Greeks to designate a form of love. Agape, in particular, refers to selfless love.“You made flowers grow in my lungs and, although they are beautiful, I cannot breathe.”– Unknown.
Relationships: Amara/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> I just wanted to come here and apologize in advance for what you're about to read. A friend of mine sent me this prompt about a dark twist on hanahaki disease and that's what I came up with. It's painful, it's the most painful thing I ever wrote and I almost gave up in the middle of it, but if I could make it 'till the end, so do you.
> 
> This is also my first proper fanfiction written in English (not really, I wrote in Portuguese first and then translated), so I apologized for any mistakes or weird things you might come up with - this is completely unbeta'd. I just finished translating and started to post.
> 
> Why I decided this was a good first thing to post in English I have no idea, but that's life.
> 
> Anyway, I truly hope you enjoy this.

Dean Winchester didn’t believe in love. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t think it didn’t exist. He just didn’t _feel it_. Not anymore. Not since the disease took him over and he almost died. Given the lack of reciprocity, and valuing his life, thank you very much, he chose and underwent surgery. The risks were clear, but he didn’t care. He preferred a life without feelings than having to go through all that pain once more. Or, obviously, most likely: dying.

For many years he didn’t even believed there was a disease. Everyone around him seemed immune and were always ended up being corresponded. He didn’t even see the early stages of the disease. Until Amara showed up and he felt on his own skin that, yeas, the disease was very heal and it hurt. It suffocated him and made him feel as if countless knives were thrust into his heart at once with each beat.

Amara was a player. And Dean blamed her for who he was now. She was his disease, the cause of the pain he now caused. The woman made people fall in love for her on purpose, having fun with their suffering, with the pain and despair of the enamored. Dean still remembered her sadistic smile when she saw him throwing up the red rose petals like the blood that accompanied them.

It was desperate. Dean couldn’t sleep because his mind would evoke his memories of the woman, her smile, her laugh, the sound of her voice, always so soft and seductive. Her curves, how she touched and captivated him. And every time he remembered, his heart would beat ten times faster, feeding the growth of the thorns, of the garden within him. He couldn’t breathe, the petals rising up his throat and out of his mouth in a flood that tinted the floor of his room in red and velvet. Dean had never been a fan of red roses, but there he was being the number one world producer of the flower.

He remembered the first time he saw Amara. She was walking down the street, wearing a long black dress, carrying a basket of flowers on her arm. The basket practically overflowed with flowers of the most varied types and colors. Her long brown hair moved with the summer breeze and she seemed to feel that Dean’s gaze was fixed on her, because she looked at him immediately and smile from ear to ear. Dean liked the conquest, but until then he had never met anyone to match his game. Until Amara.

They walked side by side until they reached her house. Amara lived in a house far from everything, a farm place of some kind, so big that the space was. The house itself was small and simple, what really caught the attention and took everyone’s breath away was the immense field of flowers she cultivated.

It was dived in sections for each flower and depending on its color. She had countless, and so many colors that it would be a challenge for the most talented of painters to paint that landscape. The field continued on and on, and Amara took care of each flower personally, with no one to help her. She used to tell Dean that it was her favorite task and that each flower had a special meaning. Each one had its own story. Dean never thought there, in the late afternoon sun, that one day not only would he discover the story behind these stories, but he would probably be a part of it.

The days with Amara went by on the blink of an eye. Days became weeks and as slow as fall asleep, Dean fell for the woman. She was captivating, smart, funny. Dean was a never a match for her game. Amara was a _serial seductress_ , and proud. Dean didn’t know that that moment, thinking that the woman could reciprocate his feelings. Until the first petal came out of his mouth.

He would never forget the weird sensation of velvet on his mouth. It happened while he ate, in between bites, an itchy on his throat and then something weird on his tongue. Under Sam’s watchful eyes, Dean opened his mouth and pulled out the first petal. Red as blood, soft, shiny and _real_. Confused, he just looked at his plate and wondered when did Sam start to cook and experiment with flowers in his food. The youngest swore the he didn’t put the petal there, and soon Dean forgot what happened.

Two days later, it happened again. Whilst he was brushing his teeth, two petals came out as he spit out the toothpaste. As red as the first one – now on the trash can. Because he never believed in the disease, it took Dean another five days to connect the dots. Except it wasn’t him to make the connection, but Sam. The younger brother believed in the disease the same way a kid believes in Santa. And when the oldest had a coughing fit with red petals, Sam questioned that possibility. Dean didn’t want to believe, obviously. Not just because it meant acknowledge the disease was real, but recognizing that he, Dean Winchester, was in love with someone. Someone that didn’t love him back.

He lost the battle against disbelief during a date with Amara. She had offered to prepare a candlelit dinner in the flowery field, and Dean accepted. Obviously he would accept, it was a clear sign she was falling for him. Right? It was enough for him to convince himself that those stories Sam tried to throw at him do convince him of the risk he was taking was just that: a myth. Fairytales that parents told their children at bedtime.

It was a lovely night. Middle of the summer, with a starry sky and the night warm. Dean found it difficult to breathe, which he blamed on the air that have been drier than usual due to lack of rain. His stomach churned and he felt a burning sensation, which he blamed on his nervousness. That could be _the_ night. He was hoping to reach some new bases with Amara. If Dean knew how that night would end, maybe he wouldn’t have left his house.

Amara had arranged the table outside, right in the middle of the field. A white tower covered it, two plates with cutlery, glasses and two candles. There was also a beautiful vase in the center, which was empty. Dean didn’t question it, maybe he should have brought a bouquet for her? He wasn’t exactly a big fan of giving flowers to women – or anyone for that matter – thinking they were just a lame gift. He knew for experience that people reacted better when receiving a box of chocolates other than flowers. But Amara didn’t seem to mind the lack of flowers. “It’s okay,” she said when he voiced his thoughts. Her smile was always very comforting, stirring Dean’s heart, which was beating faster and seemed to hurt more and more. “We’ll figure something out later.” Not even in a thousand years would he be able to understand what she meant by that, but it wouldn’t be long before Dean discovered how dark the woman’s mind was.

As in any other date, they talked and laughed. Shared stories, curiosities and secrets. Dean wasn’t used to that, but he was interested and it seemed Amara was too. She laughed at his bad jokes and shared some details about her. It didn’t go unnoticed by Dean that he seemed to share more than she did. That he led the conversation more than the woman. And with each mouthful, each sip of wine, Dean felt more uncomfortable. His abs seemed to hurt more and more by the minute. And the food was starting to come down with more difficulty.

Something seemed to crush his organs inside. Every heartbeat was like being stabbed multiple times. His throat seemed to be scratched from the inside and he found it was getting harder and harder to breathe. When he coughed, a petal fell from his lips, floating in the air until falling on the excessively white towel. The contrast between the shade of white with red was fascinating, if not for the succession of more coughs, with more petals falling on the table, the food, his lap and the floor around him.

When Dean tried to look at Amara and ask for help, he noticed the wicked smile she had on her lips. How her eyes gleamed with pure _pleasure_. How she had reclined on the chair, in front of him, holding her glass of wine and watching with a note of fascination he had only seen in movies and books about psychopaths. The flames of the candles made her look even more macabre and seemed to only intensify the sparkle in the woman’s eyes.

Dean tried to ask for help, but the more he tried to talk, harder it was to breathe. He could _feel_ something going up his throat, scratching his insides. Until the heavy bouquet fell on his lap. Full. Twelve red as blood roses, with velvet touch. Intense, big as he never saw before. The thorny stems dripped his blood. Staining the white towel, his hands and clothes.

The woman in front of him finally had some reaction, standing up to remove the bouquet out of his lap and putting on the vase at the center of the table. Dean just watched her, his heart beating faster by the minute, his breath shallow. In his mouth, he could still taste the blood and the flowers. Amara just smiled, admiring the flower arrangement and how well it fit the composition she had put together. Dean didn’t know what to say or how to react. If there was something he should do. But, in the end, he didn’t have to, because Amara said everything that was necessary that night: “Red roses”, that stupid wicked smile never leaving her lips. “No one had vomited these before.”

It was like something clicking inside his brain and everything made sense. Anyone could have heard the exact moment when Dean’s brain clicked and he understood what was going on. Amara was, after all, a _serial seductress_. She did it on purpose. Seducing men and women of any age and encouraged them to cherish those feelings. She would never reciprocate them. If because she was incapable of just for being a freaking psychopath, Dean would never know, nor did he want to. She just wanted the flowers.

Looking away from her and the flowers he had just vomited, Dean looked around. The field of flowers that surrounded them. For the first time he realized that he couldn’t smell the flowers, and there were many. Nor did he smell the combination of fragrances. Quite the opposite. The garden carried a bitter smell, bordering on rot. Dean had smelled that before, twice in the past, on his parent’s funerals. A graveyard had that smell. Carried the smell of rot, death. Amara’s garden smelled like death.

How many had fallen for her spell and couldn’t resist? How many had died there, in the middle of a pleasant dinner on a summer night? How many bodies had she buried to be used as fertilizer for her garden? Dean felt sicker than before when he realized that he was the next victim. Because there was no denying anymore, how to refute. He was in love with Amara. And she wasn’t in love with him. Therefore, Dean Winchester was sick. He was sick with the disease he spent all his life refusing to believe it was real. And he knew from the stories, from the little information that Sam had managed to give him, that in a matter of days he would join that garden. His flowers were already there, she was already picking some to start planting, she had probably already chosen the place. Perhaps there, where they were having dinner, would be the place where his flowers would be planted, cultivated.

He didn’t care to say goodbye to her, to tell her how sick and despicable she was. If she had been on the journey for so long – and Dean knew that was the case – Amara had probably heard a lot worse. He knew, just from her smile, from the sparkle in her eyes that it would do no good to beg for her to love him back, for her to give him a chance. Amara was incapable of love. She cultivated love, but didn’t share it. It was all to her.

That same time, he asked Sam to take him to the hospital. On the way there, the youngest told him all the side effects that the surgery could cause. Dean would lose his feelings for Amara, yes, but he could also forget her – Dean was even relieved to hear that. Or, even worse, he could lose his ability to love someone again. That was not as nice, but Dean still preferred it to death. Sam had guaranteed it didn’t always happen, but it was a possibility. The statistics were beside him, and Dean held on to that.

Now he would have wished to have accepted death.


	2. Chapter 2

When Castiel showed up in his life, Dean was just a shell, an echo of the person he once was. The surgery had been successful, but the expected side effect never happened. He still remembered Amara, what had happened, the feeling of throwing up petals, roses and the entire bouquet. However, _he couldn’t love anymore_. Dean was empty inside. The memories were stronger than the pain medication the doctors had prescribed.

When he closed his eyes at night, he remembered every sensation and how empty his body felt. And he couldn’t love anymore. He didn’t even feel like meeting someone, flirting and having one-night stands as before. Now he wished he had died. Move on, going through every process of the disease until the very end. Because he knew it would have been better than how he felt now. Dean felt numb. As if he never came out of the effects of anesthesia.

The days passed without him feeling anything and, okay, the doctors had said that he could feel it at first. But even a year later, in another city, Dean felt submerged in the deepest sea, unable to reach the surface and not wanting to break it either. He was living on automatic mode: he woke up from the few hours of sleep he could get, ate whatever Sam put in front of him and spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch, staring at the television.

His life was not a life anymore. Now he could see how much he underestimated the simple act of loving. Because the feeling was not just resigned to people. But the love for live, for simple pleasures: like his favorite pie, his car, the stupid cartoons that once made him laugh. Once Dean had wished he didn’t feel a damn thing, and now he realized how stupid he had been. Naïve.

The moments he left the house was just because Sam forced him, and little by little he had started to get used to living because _Sam_ needed it. It killed him to see his older brother languishing because of the effects of a disease that was so cruel. And for someone even worse. Sam could still remember when he went to Amara’s house to accuse her, how her laughter echoed through the air. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his heart freeze inside his chest. There wasn’t an ounce of any kind of sentiment inside that women. And she had no regrets. Even offering to show Sam the flower bed built in honor of Dean and his roses. It was sickening. There was no other word for it. And at the same time, it broke his heart to see the effect it had had on Dean.

Almost two year later Dean was able to get back something resembling some sort of life. Of course it was nothing compared to what he had before Amara, but neither he or Sam would complain about it. The eldest would leave the house, eat and do more than just watch cartoons and movies. He walked the streets, he talked to people and made some friends. Dean never allowed anyone or himself to get too close. He wasn’t like Amara; he didn’t want anyone to go through what he went through. Dean never realized that there were things he just had no control over.

Castiel appeared on a cloudy day. The irony, since the guy seemed to light up the whole place. Dean and Sam were having lunch at a restaurant when he walked in. Dean knew, if it were before, he would have made a move. He’d hit on the guy and take him to bed. Maybe they would spend more time together, Castiel seemed smart enough to win him over. But now Dean had changes and he was incapable of allowing himself to get involved, even if it was just for one night. The risk was not for him. It was for the others. The only reason he kept Sam close was because of they were brothers, if Sam was just a friend like any other, Dean would have sent him away – or run away from him as soon and faster as possible.

They lived on a small town, so Dean was not surprised when he met Castiel again a few days later, now in the library. One of the activities he started to do was help Sam to study. The youngest had proposed in the hopes of sparking _any_ interest in his brother, but in the end Dean only accepted because there was no better option.

His dark hair was even darker from the rain Castiel had walked in until he arrived at the library, probably caught off guard since he didn’t carry an umbrella. With the reflection of the water, the abnormally blue eyes looked even brighter than normal. He wore a trench coat over social clothes that didn’t quite match the city’s aesthetic. Even Sam had given up on formal attire, even though it was a requirement from his job – he saved those clothes for the days he had to go to court.

Even from afar, Dean could feel the depth of the guy’s voice, hoarse and deep, with a heat that could warm the most needy heart. He was polite, friendly, and it didn’t take much for the librarian to fall in his spell. Dean needed to read, but he was mesmerized by the guy. He was weird, in the way he articulated himself, but he moved with grace and, if that was possible, firmness at the same time. As if he owned the place. Yes, Dean would definitely have hit on him if it was before.

The first time they talked, Dean was leaving the grocery store and Castiel was walking in. Their bodies collided and Dean’s purchases falling to the floor. Castiel, gentleman that he was, crouched down to help him, and the smile that Dean offered as a ‘thank you’ was the most genuine he had given in two years.

He wasn’t that naïve to believe he was cured from the condition the surgery had imposed on him. Dean had read enough books about the disease to know that there was no documented case of cure. But he hadn’t lost the ability to _feel_ , he just chose not to. Feelings hurt, it didn’t matter how friendly they were. Dean didn’t allow himself to be friendly and charming as he once was. He was more conscious than ever of his acts.

But with Castiel there was something stronger, which he couldn’t fight. And he found himself, a week after their meeting at the grocery store, sitting at a bar table talking with the guy. Dean kept himself distant and reserved, but he enjoyed the storied that Castiel shared with him. It hurt though, because every little thing he learned about the guy, Dean only wished he had known him _before_. He would throw up a thousand bouquets of roses for Castiel if needed. There was a person worth falling in love with and dying of unrequited love.

Castiel was good. He helped those in need, defended those who didn’t have enough voice to defend themselves. He was funny, contained the knowledge of what looked like the biggest library in the world. The wasn’t an ounce of evil on that guy. Dean found him fascinating. He was unable to fight the effect Castiel had on him, and, therefore, allowed himself to make his first _real_ friendship in two years.

Dean felt the emptiness of his lack of feelings in his chest, and it seemed to intensify every time he was in Castiel’s presence. Every time he smiled or his blue eyes fixed on Dean. God, how unique those eyes were. Dean had never seen such an intense blue. It reminded him summer days when he was a kid and would play outside with Sam. Or when their parents would take them to the lake and the sky was so blue that the water would reflect it perfectly, bringing the sky to the earth. A piece of heaven at anyone’s reach.

Two weeks later after their collision on the grocery store, Sam woke up to Dean’s screams. The oldest was in the bathroom, in front of the mirror. His face was red and damp with tears that streamed endlessly from his green eyes. Because he was shirtless, his chest was visibly red and his hands were gripping tight the sink. Dean was panting. The crying wasn’t just of sadness; it was of pain. “I wanna feel, Sammy,” he whispered once he saw his brother. His voice was hoarse from the crying, the tears only intensified. “He’s worth it!”

Sam’s own heart seemed to break in a million pieces. There was nothing he could say or do but hug his brother tightly and let him cry and stain his white t-shirt. Unable to punch himself, his own heart to make him feel, Dean hit his brother, who just closed his eyes and allowed him to. It was the least Sam could do for not being able to protect him before.

“I wanna love him,” Dean cried. His legs giving out and bringing him to the floor, Sam following along, never breaking the tight hug.

It was heartbreaking. Sam wished he could say there was a way, that his endless research had finally given him something. But there wasn’t. Every time someone underwent through surgery and showed the same side effects as Sam, the doctor kept a record on them. No one was able to reverse the condition.

What hurt the most inside of Dean wasn’t just the incapability of loving Castiel, but knowing he had love once and had wasted on someone cruel, cold and evil who saw her conquests as just another beautiful flower in her garden. Dean love someone that was never worth of his love, that suffering. He loved someone that would never be on the same level as Castiel. And it tore in on the inside. Castiel was worthy of all the love in the world. But he could never have Dean’s.

When it happened, a month and a half after their meet-cute at the grocery store, it was raining as never seen before on that town. Sam and Dean had left in the morning to go to the library. The two brothers now searched tirelessly for cases that had been reversed, contacting all doctors to find out if there was any treatment that could reverse that feeling. Because it hurt. And more than one night Dean had woken up panting and sweating when he felt the tightness in his chest after another dream about Castiel in which they were able to love each other freely.

Castiel had joined them right before the rain started to fall. The library was empty except for the three of them and the librarian. It seemed like everybody knew he world was about to fall on their heads, except for the three of them – the outsiders. When Castiel showed up, they had switched the research for something related to Sam’s latest case.

The brunette seemed sick, with dark circles under his eyes. Eyes that no long shone as before. Dry lips, tousled hair – more than usual. Even his social clothes were left aside and it looked like he was wearing pajamas. Dean couldn’t blame him, for a long time that had been his daily outfit. Every day was terrible. When Castiel turned to put his backpack on the free chair, Dean realizes he was thinner too. Dean swallowed hard, worry taking over.

They chatted for a while and trembled when the first thunder boomed over the city. It didn’t take long for the rain begin to fall on the streets, unforgiving. The librarian walked to close the front windows and place a sign indicating they were open to offer shelter to those in need. Then she left and went to a back room, claiming to hate days like that. Sam, Dean and Castiel were alone now, resuming their research.

When it started, Sam and Dean didn’t notice right away. Castiel coughed repeatedly, and they thought the man was just sick. They weren’t wrong, but neither did they expect it to be _that_ disease. Dean only looked up when the petal fell on the page of the book he was reading. It was the petal of a rose – he knew _very well_ – but its tone was something he had never seen before. Blue as the color of the sky in the summer day. Like the color of… _Castiel’s eyes_.

His face was red and his eyes were wet as he tried to suppress a new coughing fit. But there was no escape, Dean knew that very well. He punches Sam’s arm so that his brother would see what was happening while Castiel lost the battle and started to cough uninterruptedly. It was a more advanced case than Dean, that forced him to act immediately, standing up to run his hand over Castiel’s back, who bent forward as the flood of blue petals fell down his lap and spread across the floor around them.

One by one, not without struggle, the petals stopped, only to be replaced by whole flowers. Beautiful roses, with a velvety touch and that intense blue.

In his research after he underwent surgery, Dean wanted to understand why red roses. What they meant. He ended up learning a lot more, especially about the meanings of other colors. As expected, like every cliché, red roses were a symbol of passion, burning love. Nothing but carnal love. He remembered yellow roses represented love between friends, and the white one symbolized peace. At the time he found it strange to see the symbolism of blue roses, having never seen one. But there was a first time for everything, and now he saw Castiel throwing up countless blue roses stained by the blood that accompanied them. Dean concluded at the time that there was a reason why blue roses were so rare: they symbolized _true, eternal love, strong and rare_. The conquest of what is impossible. When Castiel fell to the floor, his face so red from the difficulty to breathe, Dean wished he had never discovered those meanings.

He fell with Castiel, not letting him go for one moment. He didn’t know for who he was throwing up those roses, but everything inside him hurt and he couldn’t contain his tears. The man he would like to be in love with started to die in his arms and there was nothing Dean could do. Castiel was in his arms, his blue eyes filled with tears that made the color shine even more brightly, and fixes on Dean’s dull green eyes. When the first bouquet came out, it was much more leafy than what Dean had vomited for Amara. Fuller, the blue more vivid than what Castiel had vomited until then. It also allowed Castiel to take a deep breath.

“Dean…” he gasped. Dean couldn’t stop crying, murmuring that Castiel should be quiet and not waste his energy. “Dean.”

“Everything is gonna be okay very soon,” said Dean, his voice so low Castiel almost couldn’t hear. He didn’t want to know for who those petals were falling. He didn’t know what would hurt more, if it were for Sam or for him. Either way, Castiel would die.

“Dean…” he coughed, some petals fell on his chest, stained in blood. “Please… _I love you._ ”

“I can’t,” Dean cried, burying his face on Castiel’s chest. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. _I can’t_.”

He felt something intense for Castiel, but it wasn’t love. He couldn’t love. Amara had taken that from him. Even without intending to do so, she got another damn flower to her damn garden. Dean held Castiel tight, his lips finding the brunette’s so that at least one kiss could be exchanged. But he knew it was in vain. Not even a thousand kisses would be able to save Castiel. Dean was unable to love, and he was unable to save Castiel.

Dean wanted with every fiber of his being to reverse it, go back in time and never meet Amara, never be fooled by her. He wanted to never have had that surgery, to die for a stupid love that would never come close of what Castiel felt for him – of what _he_ could have felt for Castiel. But it was impossible. He had prayed, wished upon stars, cried himself to sleep every night, punched his heart so it would come back to life, to feel something. But everything was in vain.

Dean was incapable of love. And all he had left was to stay there, sitting on the library floor, the rain falling with unforgivable force outside, holding tightly the man who was vomiting blue roses _for him_. Roses that meant eternal love. That meant the conquest of what is impossible. But it wasn’t true, because Castiel couldn’t earn Dean’s love. Dean’s love didn’t exist. Dean’s love had died, and Dean could only wish he had died with it.

Castiel deserved more than that. More than to fall for a guy that had wasted an opportunity. More than love a guy that couldn’t give him everything he deserved and more. More than to die in a library in an ocean of blue petals. And Dean quite simply didn’t deserve Castiel.

“Forgive me,” whispered Dean, his tears wetting the face of the man he held tightly. The angel who had saved him, who had given him a purpose. Or tried to. “Take me with you.’

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice was weaker, there was a new bouquet between them. Dean drew his face away so he could take a look at Castiel. His face was paler then before, his blue eyes gradually losing his inner light.

“I’m sorry for wasting my love,” cried Dean, his hand caressing the man’s face, never minding the blood running down his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you. I _want_ to love you, Cas. I just can’t.”

“I loved for the both of us,” Castiel whispered, his voice was so low Dean wouldn’t have been able to hear him had not been so close.

Castiel’s last words weighed on Dean as if a giant had sit on top of him. He wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and throw it away, what good was it if he couldn’t love Castiel? So that he should live if Castiel wasn’t there with him. Dean held him in his arms and cried, screamed in anger until his throat hurt and his voice broke. He begged, he screamed that he love Castiel. But there was nothing else to do.

He just _wished_ to love. And that wasn’t enough.


	3. Chapter 3

He could still feel the weight of Castiel’s lifeless body in his arms. The petals that covered them. Blue was the most intense color. More painful. A color he had learned to appreciate now only brought him pain and suffering. There were no words, nothing he could do. Outside, the rain kept falling mercilessly, as if the universe itself was crying for that sad fatality. The sky breaking in half, like Dean’s lifeless heart.

Castiel’s body was cold, his lips tainted with red. There was still a petal in his mouth that Dean rescued. The velvety touch on his fingers had the opposite effect than imagined. It was like cutting his skin, making his own heart bleed more. Dean was crying but barely noticed. His entire body was numb, all he felt was pain, Castiel motionless, cold and lifeless in his arms.

Sam was nearby but in complete silence. Dean didn’t see, but his brother was also crying and hurting for what he had just witnessed. It was the first time he had seen the advanced stages of the disease, and he selfishly thanked heaves that Dean hadn’t gone until the final stage of it. Of course, his brother was suffering from being unable to reciprocate Castiel’s feelings, but Sam still preferred to have him by his side. He had already lost to many people, and didn’t feel prepared for yet another loss.

They had to do something. They couldn’t just stay there. The petals moved according to the breeze coming in through the cracks. The library seemed colder with that blue sea. Blue was said to be the warmest color, but the only thing Dean felt was cold and pain. The color that one day brought him hope, now brought only desolation. Suffering. If he had any powers, every day would be gray so the sky wouldn’t remind him of what he had just lost.

Time passed by without them noticing. Minutes, hours… Days could have passed and Dean wouldn’t mind. He would stay there for the rest of his life if it meant having Castiel in his arms. Castiel who had loved him. That had succumbed to the disease because he saw in Dean someone who was worth loving. Dean would never see himself as worthy of that love, but Castiel had seen something in him that seemed worth the risk. He had been clear: he had loved for the both of them. There was no blame or judgment in his voice. Castiel understood Dean’s side even though he never knew the story. Even if Dean kept his distance, Castiel would still take his chance and risk loving him.

When Dean heard the first cough, he thought it was Sam trying to get his attention back to reality. But his brother hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything. And the source of the sound seemed much closer. When it happened again, Dean blinked and looked around. He couldn’t move his arms, numb for the time he stayed still holding Castiel’s body, so he couldn’t feel what was happening over them. The third cough was accompanied by a blue petal that touched Dean’s face like the touch of a butterfly. Smooth, delicate and soft.

Why were petals flying? It wasn’t windy, or had someone opened a door? He didn’t know what usually happened after the victim died, what happened to the petals and the bouquets. Maybe they disappear? Went back to the place they came from? Dean looked down, expecting to see Castiel’s mouth swallowing all the petals. But what awaited him there was a thousand times better.

Blue. Crystal blue. Blue like the summer sky. Blue like the clearest lake. Blue that stared at him. The blinked in confusion. Blue that filled his body with warmth and… _Love_?

Dean’s heart beat like it hadn’t in years. So strong that it seemed it would jump out of his chest to join the other who had just sacrificed himself so that he could be resurrected. Castiel, lying in his arms, stared back at him. His lips were still tinted with blood, but smiled at him, and his face had a much healthier color. And the eyes… God, what Dean wouldn’t give to have those eyes always fixed on him.

“Did I die?” Dean had to ask, disbelief taking over his body. That was the only possibility, right? He wished to join Castiel so much, that his wish was granted.

It was Sam’s laugh that answer all of his doubts. His brother was crying, but now it was for joy, not believing his eyes. He had followed Castiel’s body changing, losing its gray aspect and starting to move discreetly. His chest up and down when the air filled his lungs again, and his coughing with the remains of the petals that he had not been able to regurgitate before. When Castiel’s eyes opened, Sam had to pinch himself to believe it. Castiel’s face was wet from Dean’s tears, but he didn’t care. From the moment he opened his eyes, until hours later, the blue eyes only focused on one thing: Dean Winchester.

Dean stared at him not knowing what to do. It was too much to process. Castiel in his arms, warm, breathing, smiling at him and looking at him as if Dean was the center of the entire universe. His chest seemed to ache with the pounding of his heart. The stomach that turned into knots as if butterflies were flying everywhere inside. His hands were shaking and his thoughts were a mess. A mix of emotions that he thought that had died two years ago. That he thought had been permanently removed from his body.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice came in a whisper, his hot breath warm as the summer breeze. Everything about him reminded him of summer, including the way his body now warmed Dean’s, as if bringing him back to life as well.

“Cas,” Dean said back, his hands caressing the guy’s face, sweeping away his hair from his forehead. “Cas, you… How?” Green eyes averted from the blue ones to face his brother, looking for answers. “How is… Is he…?”

“Dean,” Castiel called him, his hand reaching out to touch his face. Dean closed his eyes under that touch. How many nights had he dreamed of being touched like that and woke up in tears because he would never feel it in real life? Castiel’s touch was delicate and warm, spreading a wave of new feelings all over his body. “What do you _feel_?”

The question was odd, but not without purpose. Dean was feeling _everything_. The sadness and pain for losing Castiel was still there, weaker than before, but still present. And there were all of the other feelings that he couldn’t even name or quantify. Happiness and relief to see him alive. Gratitude for not having lost Castiel. And… Dean’s eyes widened when he realized something. Strong and hot. Pulsing within him. Making his whole body shiver, his hands shake and more tears flow from his green eyes.

“I…” Dean hesitated, not knowing how to voice that. But it was stronger than him, and the smile Castiel gave him was enough to fill him with courage. “I _love_ you. I… I can. _I love you._ ”

Near them, Sam gasped, not believing his own eyes and ears. Despite what his eyes saw, he still couldn’t believe it. Everything they had researched, even the material he had collected for years. Nothing showed any indication that they were able to reverse Dean’s condition. All the patients who underwent surgery and who lost the capacity of love had never been able to recover from it. And yet, there were Dean and Castiel. Not only Dean capable of loving, but also bringing Castiel back to life.

“Soulmates,” said a fourth voice, interrupting them. The three men looked at the source, finding the librarian. She should have been standing there for a long time, because her face was covered in tears. “I… I thought it was just a myth, but… _Soulmates_.”

A myth so forgotten that very few people remembered its existence, unless they dug deeply. There was a time when the love disease traced to an old story, aimed to punish those who dared to act in sin. The disease was not seen as the disease of unrequited love, but the disease of undue love. Those who dared to love someone other than the person destined for themselves should suffer, vomiting the flowers destined for their true soulmate.

As time passed by, the idea of punishment disappeared and the name of the disease changed, earning a simpler meaning. There were cases of couples who fell in love and then ended the relationship without any petal being spilled over. The disease of unrequited love was simples, it was enough to love back, regardless of whether your destiny was linked to the other person or not.

“But what is said is that only the true soulmate could bring the feelings removed by the surgery,” the librarian told them.

“That’s why there are no reports,” concluded Sam. “What are the odds of you finding your soulmate?”

“Up until today, I would have said none,” the woman said, looking at the both men still sitting on the floor.

Dean and Castiel stared at each other, almost not believing what they were being told. It seemed absurd and, at the same time, the only possible explanation. For someone that had grown up not believing in the disease and almost died from it, Dean saw no problem in defying his beliefs a little bit more. Especially when it brought back the man for whom he would be willing to risk everything. Especially when it meant that he and Castiel were made for each other. _Destined_ to be together.

“Blue roses,” he said whilst looking around them, to all the petals that surrounded them. “True eternal love. The conquest of the impossible.”

Love was the disease, fatal in many cases. But it also could be the cure. Dean had wished to love and Castiel had died for his love. More than that, he had cured him. He brought his heart back to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Are you guys okay? Do you need a tissue? A hug? Punch me? I'll understand.
> 
> This chapter wasn't on the original story, but I just couldn't live with myself had a finished the way chapter 2 ended, so there we have some sort of happy ending.
> 
> A friend of mine (the same one that gave me the prompt) was the one to point out the whole soulmate thing, so I decided to explore a little bit more. Thank god for Soulmate Au's, right?
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> I swear I'll post something nicer next time. Or not. Who knows really?


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